


world enough and time

by Avelera



Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Love at First Sight, No season 2 or book spoilers, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Soulmates, soulmates if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: What if, in another universe, I deserve you?Or: four lives that never happened to Joe Miller, and one that never happened to Julie Mao.





	1. miss julie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nourgelitnius (Ladysarah)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladysarah/gifts).



> I want to thank Ladysarah for the excellent beta work, story suggestions, and overall support she gave me while writing this fic, everything from helpful pointers regarding events that happen later in the book, to general screaming over "Leviathan Wakes" and especially Joe Miller. This fic could not have been written without her.
> 
> "world enough and time" contains spoilers for season 1 of the TV series "The Expanse". While book canon is referenced, it is not needed to understand the story, as this is primarily based on imagery and story details from the show. It also avoids spoilers for season 2. 
> 
> This fic is somewhat inspired by "Five Things That Never Happened to Londo Mollari" by Ruuger, but mostly it's inspired by the tragedy that is Miller and Julie's lives, and the idea that maybe they really are connected somehow. The title is from the poem "To His Coy Mistress", by Andrew Marvell.  
> I hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I stop you before you go.

_What if, in another universe, I deserve you?_

_Hear me out. There’s this philosopher from the 1890s named William James, and he coined this theory about “the multiverse” which suggests that a hypothetical set of multiple universes comprises everything that can possibly exist simultaneously._

_Are you following? The entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines: It’s the idea of parallel universes. Right? So okay, let’s presume the multiverse is real._

_Well then, maybe somewhere in those infinite universes is one, or several, where I deserve you._

_…You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline._

\- Gaby Dunn, “Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You"

 

* * *

**Ceres**

Julie Mao spits in his face.

Impressive distance and accuracy, given that it was through the bars of her cell. Miller gives her a mental nod of approval even as he wipes the spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. She stands defiant, daring him to throw open the door and beat the shit out of her. Or at least try to. He’d seen the jiu jitsu awards in her apartment, and luring a cop into the cell only to take him down was just the sort of thing Miller would do too. At least, he would if he was a rich kid runaway with a brown belt and delusions of Belter solidarity.

Miller instead drags a metal stool screeching over the concrete floor and sits down. Julie towers over him, arms folded, still wearing the red jumpsuit he had caught her in when she and her crew had been on the way to their ship, the _Scopuli_. The rest of the crew had taken off without her, and Miller hadn’t stopped them. He didn’t have a warrant anyway, and they weren’t breaking any laws even if everything about their mission was practically an advertisement for shady OPA dealings. No, he was just there for Juliette Andromeda Mao.  

“I am not going back to my parents,” she says, eyes burning as she stares him down. “And you can’t detain me like this, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That may be,” Miller says pleasantly. He takes off his hat and slicks back his hair, looking up at Julie. He makes a small gestures for her to sit but isn’t surprised when she doesn’t oblige. The hat hangs idly from one finger while he talks. “But ‘wrong’ and ‘legal’ are two different things, much as I’d like it to be otherwise. Last I checked, aiding a terrorist organization counted as wrong _and_ illegal. And this little kidnapping job your pops ordered? It gave me access to some interesting correspondences you keep, which unless I miss my guess could give me everything I need to send you back in cuffs. So what I suggest—”

Julie makes a sound of disgust. “Is this where you tell me we can do this the easy way or the hard way?”

“Frankly, Miss Julie, I don’t care what happens to you.” The lie tastes sour on his tongue. “But I don’t like kidnapping jobs. They don’t sit right with me. You’re a grown-ass woman and if you want to get yourself killed trying to help us Belters, that’s your business. The problem is, it’s a crazy thing to do, just crazy enough that your folks can label you disturbed and claim custody. There’s enough evidence out there for that too, so you’d go back to Earth in a straightjacket instead of cuffs.”

The threat must have struck some memory, because Julie blanches though the set of her jaw remains firm. “Earth is not my home."

“See, right there? That’s crazy. Why would you ever live out here when you could live in a place where a crack in the hull can’t kill you on any given day?” he says, half to himself. Earth would be torture for him, but Julie could have lived there in the lap of luxury and just… didn’t. Why? He thought he’d found the answer in his snooping through her apartment here on Ceres, but Miller was willing to admit that he could have built a fairytale for himself; an image of her cobbled together from half-finished letters and old take-out receipts. He wants to hear the truth from her.

“Are you asking for my life story?” she says. Her disdain shades to incredulity.

 _Yes_. “No,” Miller chuckles.“I just need you to answer one question to my satisfaction.” _I want to understand you_. He leans back, looks up at Julie Mao and says, “Why should I let you go?”

Her hand slams against the bars. “Where do I _start_?”

“Maybe I should make it clearer,” Miller says. “Why should I believe letting you go isn’t going to end with your brains splattered across a wall somewhere by the end of the week?”

Her laugh cuts deep. “So what if it does? Any of us could die on any day. I can at least look in the mirror and know I died doing something worthwhile. That I helped people. Can you say the same?”

“Nope,” Miller says. “Not the answer I was looking for. Here’s my deal: I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come up with a better answer than that _kaka felota_ , otherwise I hand you over to mom and dad.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to some _well wala_ traitor,” Julie snaps, shooting Belter creole right back at him. The accent isn’t half bad, either. Miller smiles wryly and stands.

“First lesson? You don’t have to say ‘ _well wala_ traitor'. It already means traitor,” Miller says, and replaces his hat. "I would know. Now if you’ll excuse me, tracking your ass down has been hungry work, so I’ll be getting us some food.”

By the time he comes back with two bowls of rice and fungal beans, she’s sitting on the cot in the corner of her cell. He can’t tell if the look she’s giving him is defiant or just surly, and doesn’t feel like arguing with her. He slides the bowl through the slat at the bottom of the door and takes his seat again. She doesn’t complain about the food, or hesitate to eat it. After she finishes, she watches him.

Fine, two can play at that game. He sets aside his own empty bowl, takes out his terminal and begins flipping through station reports.

To her credit, it takes her a few hours to crack. He’s read through a stack of paperwork, and is down to the reports they usually set aside to break in rookies, when she speaks.

“You don’t have to stay here all night.” She nods up at the cameras. “I’m still watched, and I can’t get out on my own. What are you trying to accomplish?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’ll feel chatty in the middle of the night,” Miller says without looking up. “And I wouldn’t want you to have to wait to unburden yourself.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Julie says. The intensity of her tone forces him to look up. “Why these games? You can let me go or you can ship me off. But I’m not going to betray my comrades. You’re not going to get information out of me, even if you torture me. If you want my word that I won’t continue to fight for Belters, it will just be a lie and you know it. So why are you doing this?”

 _Because I’m scared shitless for you, that’s why_. Miller wants to grab her through the bars and shake her. He wants to tell her that challenging anyone else in his position to torture her is a good way to get what she asks for. The fake smirk is gone, he can’t maintain it when listening to her earnestness and anger. Worse, it's all justified. In her position, he’d clock his captor in the teeth as soon as look at him and then make a run for it. He might not spit in a guard’s face but that’s only because he’s never cared enough about anything to do so. Well, except for clean air and water on Ceres, and that didn’t make him special. That just made him an average low-life Belter.

The problem was this pervasive sense of doom that hovered over Julie Mao. If Miller was a romantic, he’d say it was like a shadow, only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. If he can just hold her here-- if he can keep her from going wherever it was in the universe that wanted to chew her up and spit her out-- he knows he could keep something terrible from happening.

He doesn’t want to ship her back to Earth, but he knows the minute he sets her free she’s going to fly back into the teeth of that shadow faster than he can blink. She’s like a bird that will beat itself to death against this cause. Julie Mao needs to learn quick who she can trust in this mess of thugs, terrorists, and suicidal heroes that fight for the OPA cause. Someone needs to teach her, and that can't be him. She won't want it to be him. So maybe he can hold her here, for just a day, and hope that shadow passes on to other victims.

It’s crazy superstition, and he knows it, but he can’t shake it. So he’ll wait. Twenty-four hours in a holding cell when there’s an active contract on her? He’d put drunks away to sleep it off for longer. And she is drunk, she’s drunk on this fucking OPA cause, she’s drunk on a life that isn’t hers and she’s going to throw the one she has away on it.

 _We’re not worth it,_ Miller wants to tell her, but he can’t even believe it himself. Why else was he here, working as a cop on Ceres except to protect these people? How can he tell her not to do what he’s doing, only better, with more guts and less brains?

Christ, he’s staring at her, he must have been staring at her for the past five minutes like some nut job, not saying a word. She must think he’s as bugfuck crazy as he looks, she _should._  It would be good instincts if she realizes a guy keeping her in a prison cell is bad news.

But those dark eyes that had only looked at him with hatred outside of the photographs softened, just a little, at his silence. She steps forwards and kneels in front of the bars so they’re face to face, wrapping her hands around the bars so he can feel the heat coming off her fingers. 

“It’s because you care,” Julie says. She’s studying his face as she speaks. “If you didn’t, you would have put me on a ship back to my family already. You care about the cause, and you know this is wrong.”

 _You’re half right_ , he wants to say. _I do care, just not about the cause_.

“It’s just a job, Miss Julie,” Miller says, and winces at the waver in his voice, the cracks in his affected nonchalance. 

“You could come with me,” she says, pouncing on his hesitation. “You haven’t reported that you have me, or you’d have to turn me over. You know this is all bullshit. It takes people like us, people who _care_ , to stop it.”

Her face lights up, and he can see a glimpse of that girl from the picture, the pinnace racer who beams like the sun. And he suddenly gets where that little girl went. What mattered to her more than the freedom of racing the Razorback: this is her new Razorback, this cause, his people.

Their people.

“We can hail the _Scopuli_ , they’ll come back for me, explain to them you switched sides…”

The spell breaks at that name:  _Scopuli._ Miller recoils. “Hell no, we’re not getting on that ship, _you’re_ not getting on that ship!” There’s panic in his chest, he can feel it rising up and choking him and doesn’t know when he stood, but he’s looming over her now, hands clenched, knuckles white at his side. “Listen to me, Julie…”

 _BANG!_  

The percussive blast as the door blows off its hinge sends Miller rocking back on his heels. He threw his arms up against the debris, and shards of metal cut into his forearms. One slices his cheek. In the split second of shock, he’d put himself between Julie and the door. There’s a tinny, high-pitched squeal ringing in Miller's ears. His wits are scrambled, his instincts gone all wrong when he turns to check on Julie instead of being alert for whoever is behind the smoke cloud. She’s taken a step back, her arms up in a defensive block. She lowers them, and he knows it's all gone wrong when her face creases into a broad grin.

Miller turns just in time for Anderson Dawes to pistol whip him across mouth. Pain explodes through his veins and nerves, and he tastes blood. Goes down. Hands root around his belt, pulling out the keys to Julie’s cell, his gun.

He watches as if from far away as Dawes opens the cell door, and hands Julie a gun. There’s more people beyond them, Miller notes. His befuddled gaze drifting to the crowd of OPA-tattooed thugs at the door.

He knows he should stay down. There’s blood in the air and violence is a frenzy that spreads on the smell of it, he’d be just one more casualty. But he’s grabbing the bars, hanging off of them as he hauls himself to his feet just in time to look Julie Mao in the eye. Then down the barrel of the gun, _his_ gun, that she's trained on him.

“Detective Miller,” Dawes drawls from behind her. “I told you we would find Julie Mao. But what happened to your claims that you would not turn her over to her family if you found her first?”

“Simple: he lied,” Julie says, not taking her eyes off Miller. “He’s _well wala_.”

 _She didn’t add traitor._  Miller feels a surge of pride that she had heard him, that she had been listening. He takes a step forward, hands open and empty. “Julie, think about what you’re doing. These people don’t give a damn about you.”

“They got me out of your cage,” she says.

 _Alright, fair point._ “This time,” Miller counters. “If you go, promise me you’ll keep your eyes open, don’t—”

“The alarm override will not last long,” Dawes says, and Julie looks back over her shoulder. “We have to go.”

“Wait, Julie!” Miller says, and grabs for her arm.

Shock lances up his leg, and then he hears the gunshot, smells the powder in the air, sees Julie above him, her face gone pale with as much shock as he’s feeling. The numbness sweeps up after, and his limbs go cold. He’s going into shock, the only warmth in his body is the blood leaking from what must be his shattered kneecap. Only surprise keeps Miller from screaming, but he has a feeling that’s going to wear off in a moment.

“Goodbye, Detective Miller,” says Dawes, and takes Julie’s hand, giving her a shake as she stands there, frozen. “Julie, we will send someone for him. But now we must go.”

 _Don’t_ , Miller tries to say, but the words never reach his lips. Pain is rushing up his nerves, it’s going to hit him any second, but now all he can see is her. The last look she sends over her shoulder as Dawes pulls her away, resolve and terror, and that unnameable expression when she had invited him to join her cause. Miller clutches his leg as he watches her turn and vanish out the door, eyes locked until the last possible moment.

Then the pain hits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd dearly love to hear from you, and/or you can share the fic from its original post on my blog [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/157748602130/world-enough-and-time-9940-words-by-avelera)!


	2. the best of worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we stay far away from it all.

**Luna**

She’s sitting down the bar from him, and has the kind of natural elegance that makes Miller’s hand go unconsciously to test the nubs of fused bone at the top of his spine, the most visible giveaway of his low-life upbringing on Ceres. No one seems to have them on Luna, most don’t know what they are. He sees the way her gaze tracks the room, and he tilts his head as it sweeps over him. She flicks her hands, a Belter shrug, and any hope he had of moving on from her that night, or ever again, is spaced right then and there.

Miller slides down the bar to her side, presuming an invitation that might be in his head, but she doesn’t move away. Her eyes are dark, shining as if in challenge to the world. She puts out her hand, and when she smiles at the sight of him he is gone and gone and gone. It’s that shared look of outsiders understanding one another, a conspiracy all their own.

“Julie Polanski.”

“The racer? Miller.”

“The bar fly? And yes,” she says with a self-mocking grin.

“Personal security,” he corrects. “Here on assignment, just got off my shift. I gotta say, this doesn’t seem like your kind of place.” He indicates the bar, not first class by any means, may have delusions of third class on a good day. She gives an easy shrug, hands gesturing slow and languid.

“I like the atmosphere. Most don’t know who I am here.”

“Or the bartender threatened to knock their teeth out if they scare you away,” he remarks. Julie Polanski, the pinnace racing star that had appeared on the scene ten years ago out of nowhere and taken the galaxy by storm. Hard to believe it was so long when the thirty year old woman in front of him looks just over twenty, but then he wears his miles a lot harder. Honestly, he’s a bit starstruck in a corner of his heart that he would never let show on his face. The gutter rat Miller had been as a kid in the Belt would have laid down on the ground to let this woman walk over him.

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” Julie says, cocking her head to the side. “A hat, a necklace you carried… did you used to have those?”

He shivers, deja vu creeping down his fused spine, and hides it as another sip of his drink. “Used to wear a hat. You must have caught me on a bad day, back when I worked on Ceres.”

“Ceres?” She’s suddenly interested, eyes alight and leaning forward. “I once thought… doesn’t matter. Tell me about growing up there.”

Miller laughs under his breath. “There’s not much to say, or I wouldn’t have left.” Disappointment flickers over Julie's face and he changes tactics, leans forward. “At least nothing I want to say here.”

It’s bold, but mostly stupid, except he’s pretty sure if this woman ever leaves his sight he’ll go crazy. Sometimes in space, two massive proto-planets will collide and spin, caught in one another’s gravity, streaming debris and he can’t tell which one of them is drawing the other in, because her eyes are fixed on his, no hint of hesitation as she takes his hand.

“Lead the way. I want to hear all about Ceres,” Julie Polanski says, and Miller can feel the strength in her grip, a seduction all its own.

He could kiss her right there. That they make it all the way back to Miller’s hotel room across the street before he gives in is a miracle.

The hotel room is real nice, clean sheets, fancy, unusual for his line of work, but the man he’s watching is some rich asshole who wants his security in the same building even if it costs extra. It feels right to press Julie against the creamy wallpaper somewhere high class, and taste her lips as she kisses back. He feels that strength again as she wraps her legs around his waist, hoisting herself effortlessly in the low gravity of Luna. She leans down with her arms twining around his neck to deepen the kiss, her fingers brushing the knots of fused bone at the top of his spine, and he moans into her mouth. The touch feels worshipful where he’s only ever felt curiosity, or disgust.

She has fine, Luna bones but the flexibility of a woman who has trained at more than one gravity level. A fighter, he can feel it in her touch, the calluses on her palms. He’d say he’s never been so turned on in his life but it’s more than that, something soul-deep, and he’s not sure who’s tugging who towards the bed, dragging the other down. By the time they’re settled and he leans down to kiss her again they’re giggling like some of the idiot teens he’d busted as a cop before his spectacular firing.

Julie goddamn Polanski, what the hell was the likes of him doing with the likes of her?

“Nice digs,” Julie grins against his lips. “Trying to impress me? You didn’t seem the type to be interested in spoiled inner planet girls.”

“The room’s temporary,” he says. “But as far as I’ve seen, you’ve earned what you got here. Nothing but respect for that.”

He feels the shiver that goes through her, as if at a bad memory, then she shrugs it off. “Damn right.”

She flips him, and hell if he doesn’t fight in the least when she leans back, brushing black hair back from her face, grinding down against the obvious bulge in his trousers. Come on, he’d have to be dead not to want her, and there’s nothing but desire and good humor in her eyes as she unbuttons the top of his shirt and leans down to place a hot, open mouthed kiss against his throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Joe hisses. “The hell are you doing with a guy like me?”

She undoes another button, her lips working down. “You were telling me about Ceres, remember?”

He laughs, and then he tells her about growing up in the Belt. Low gravity, low water, the air filtration breaking down because of the kind of scumbags he used to bust, until busting the wrong one put him out of a job. He talks as long as he can before he’s barely whispering between gasps, fingers brushing the silky length of her hair as she takes him in her mouth and he tries, fuck does he try to keep talking, but words suddenly don’t make sense and he really doesn’t want to think about Ceres anymore…

* * *

She’s still in his arms after, that’s the craziest part. Her skin is warm and he can taste her on his lips. He feels wrung out and boneless, and his fingertips trace idly down Julie’s back as he stares at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he had ended up in the middle of a dream.

“Come work for me,” Julie murmurs into his neck. Miller looks down, arching an eyebrow.

“Business or pleasure? ‘Cause I warn you, either way I’m not cheap.” He feels the huff of her laughter.

“Why not business? A girl like me needs protection, all those kidnappers,” Julie says.

“Are they going to ransom you to yourself?” Miller says. “Or have you got a rich dad hidden away somewhere?”

“Maybe I do,” Julie says after a pause, then nudges him. “Come work for me.”

He shouldn’t do it, there’s nothing more disastrous than mixing work and… whatever this is. But his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest at the thought of not seeing her again. Protecting Julie Polanski? He would have done it for free, Hell, he would have sold his kidneys for the privilege.

“Alright, but the vacation time better be generous,” Miller says. “See there’s this girl I just met, and I want to treat her right.”

“My contracts are always generous,” Julie says. She traces a hand down his chest idly. “Maybe someday we’ll visit Ceres.” She goes quiet at that, thoughtful and he could not help the shiver that runs through him. _No_ , Miller wants to say, for reasons he can’t name. _No, let’s stay here on Luna. This is the best of them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd dearly love to hear from you, and/or you can share the fic from its original post on my blog [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/157748602130/world-enough-and-time-9940-words-by-avelera)!


	3. archangel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you save me.

**Earth**

The cell door clangs shut behind his interrogator, the woman in vibrant robes with the husky voice who had demanded everything he knows about the OPA’s movements. Miller hung from hooks drilled into the walls, gravity dragging at the elongated bone and sinew of a Belter body. He felt as if the fused vertebrae in his spine would crack under the strain, and that was just the first few hours. His blood is flowing straight downward, veins straining to circulate, and his feet ache at the mere brush of concrete against his toes. He would have begged, screamed, told them anything they wanted but as he had shouted at that witch over and over _he can’t give up information he doesn’t have._

Fucking wrong place, wrong time, wasn’t that the story of his life? Catching Diogo setting charges on Ceres just as UN forces broke through the walls. He’d expected a bullet to the brain, not a black bag over his eye and waking up on Earth in time to be dragged out of the water tank and hung out to dry.

Miller’s head lolls and his vision darkens. Funny how after a certain point, pain just becomes a background hum. He’ll probably die in this place, mistaken for someone else, some OPA smuggler with information about the stealth technology the UN so desperately wants. Instead they got a dumb grunt like him, dumb enough to leave a cushy cop job on Ceres for some _cause_ like Belter independence. What the fuck had he been thinking?

He drifts, somewhere on the edge between sleep and passing out from the pain, nightmares flitting behind his eyelids throughout his fitful rest. He needs to shore up strength, if for nothing else than to tell that bitch one more time that he doesn’t know jackshit about the stealth technology, and not every damn Belter knows each other. Sure he’s OPA, sure he’d had dreams of that _meaning_ something, but he had soon learned that the OPA was an organization like any other. You have your superstars and you have your janitors, and Miller ended up somewhere in the middle, just another enforcer.

The door screeches open on rusted hinges and he’d smile, if didn’t hurt so much. Telling that politician to fuck off at least distracts from the boredom and the pain.

He’s not expecting cool fingers at his throat checking his pulse. Especially not when that touch is lifting Miller’s chin and he's face to face with the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, and not just because she isn’t his torturer. She has dark, intelligent eyes and a pale face marred only by a scar on her chin. Her black hair is swept up into a bun, her expression one of anguished concern. She wears a crisp, white suit that glows under the harsh fluorescent lights, yet she seems to think nothing of it as she moves in close, grabbing him around the waist and hoisting him off the hooks with a grunt of effort.

He’d been spitting blood as Earth's gravity crushed his organs and it had dribbled down his chest, mixed with spit and sick. It must be all over her blouse, mingled with his sweat as she takes him into her arms. She stumbles, struggling keeping them both from from falling into a graceless heap. She then lowers them both to the ground, holding Miller like the Pietà, and for a dazed moment he looks up into her face, past the brown and red stains on her blouse. She looks like an angel, and like an angel the sight of her expression shifting from concern to rage is terrifying. At least it's not directed at him. She's shouting, Miller can hear her words as if he’s underwater, but he’s too busy gazing at her face to make them out, bleary eyes tracing the scar on her chin as she snaps orders.

“Yes, get the tank over here, dammit! His condition is critical, we’re not dragging him down the halls. Oh, who the fuck do you think he’s going to hurt? He can barely move thanks to that bitch.” She snarls under her breath, loud enough for only him to hear, and her expression gentles once again as she looks back to him. She strokes the back of her hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that bathes his skin. “I’m here to help. My name is Julie Mao.”

“Who?” he mumbles.

“The legal representative of the Far Horizons Foundation,” Julie Mao says. “Your imprisonment here is a violation of interplanetary law, we’ve been lobbying to free you since we learned of your presence here on Earth.”

But Miller was only listening with half an ear after the first part. “Mao? The poor little rich girl, helping a guy like me?”

Her jaw tightens. “I would have helped anyone in your position.”

He would have made another smart-ass remark, probably gotten himself killed and not even cared because he’s delirious and aching, and having an angel to lash out at is good as anyone else. But a heavy tank of transparent glass wheels into the room, slopping water over the sides. He’s lifted, at first he thinks it’s just Julie until he sees the tech at his feet, raising him by the ankles. This is just a basic carrier tank, no breathing apparatus. The relief on his aching sinews is instantaneous, the lack of pain a drug of its own. He’s not sure he has the strength to keep from drowning, but the water must have a high saline content because he floats effortlessly and there are handles along the edges that he holds onto to steady himself as the tank is wheeled from the torture room into the white halls of the facility, and out into the open air.

Miller closes his eyes against the sky, unsure his heart can take the sight of so much empty space, nothing keeping the air close and tight around them. He must have passed out again as they load him into their vehicle, eyes shut tight against the light, bone and muscle relaxing in the weightlessness of water.

* * *

They get him off world, to the Far Horizon’s private shuttle hanging in low orbit around Earth. In his room there’s soap, shampoo and a trimmer to cut the hair and the beginnings of beard he had grown in captivity. They've left a folded charcoal gray shirt and slacks folded on the bed, only a little too large but at least the sleeves are long enough. The lower gravity environment is an instant relief, and Miller moves about with weightless ease. The cuts on his face from the fight and from being smacked around by the UN soldiers during transport are healing, down to scabs he has to remind himself not to scratch. He’s battered and bruised all to hell, but even without vanity he can be glad of a shower and a shave, at feeling human again.

Food would be good. Miller's buttoning his shirt cuffs when the door whisks open and she’s there in the doorway, Julie Mao, leaning against the frame. Miller grimaces and slicks his hair back as he turned back to face her. She isn’t wearing the white suit anymore. In its place is a simple, red jumpsuit. She crossed her arms at the sight of him, raising her chin in challenge. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, a shower does wonders after you’ve been sitting in a saltwater tank all day,” Miller said, gesturing vaguely behind him at the wash room. There had been an air of desperation on Earth when she busted into his cell, but now she's all business. “So, how the hell did you get me out of there? I thought the UN was usually better at hiding its black sites from activists.”

Julie sighs and steps into the narrow quarters without invitation, taking a seat on the cot. She folds her hands in her lap as she looked up at him. “My father. He has connections high in the government. I haven’t spoken to him in years, but I pulled a favor on my organization’s behalf to get you free. We were hoping you could help us.”

Miller barks a laugh. “Jesus, you too? Look, I don’t know anything about the stealth tech. I was an enforcer, got it?  Hired muscle, that’s it. Couple years ago I just… looked around and realized I couldn’t think of a damn reason I was working with an Earther security force against other Belters. So I jumped ship and joined the OPA. Turns out, they’ve got a lot of guys like me, thousands, all dumb as rocks and looking for something to die for. So they put me in enforcement, pretty much the same damn gig I had with Star Helix. And the guy they were looking for?” he whistles, flicking his hand towards the walls. “ _Long_ gone before the UN bagged me.”

Concern flickers over Julie’s face at his tirade, deep and somehow _personal_ , for all that she was some rich kid activist playing at OPA support. Maybe didn’t even know she was working for the OPA, who knows what the official story was for Far Horizons recruits on Earth. Or maybe she isn’t dumb, and really does care that much about Belter freedom. Hell, she had pulled a favor with her old man to get him out of a black site, he’s probably being too hard on her. After all, Miller owes Julie Mao his life.

“We don’t want the stealth tech,” Julie says. “We want you to testify in court about your treatment. The way you were captured and interrogated was frankly illegal even if we were at war, which we are not. We want to force a case to ensure that Belters have the same rights as everyone else. But for that, we need your help.”

“And if I say no?” Miller retorts. “If I just want to get the hell out of here and go back to my shitty job on Ceres, what then?”

“We have video of your rescue,” Julie says. “Far Horizons can take this case to the highest court even without your involvement, if that’s what you want. But your testimony would go a long way to strengthening our case. We won’t force you, Mr. Miller. We’re not the UN.”

Miller stops, stunned at her answer. A legal challenge based on what had happened to him? If they could pull it off, it would be a clever strategy. Shit, it might even work...

“Mr. Miller,” Julie Mao says, leaning in, “you joined the OPA to make a difference. Right now, we have a chance to make that difference. This trial could set a precedent that would protect _millions_ of Belters without a single shot fired.”

She shifts, rising to her feet. “Or you can return to Ceres and your job as a hired thug, making as much difference there for Belters as you think you can. God knows I wish that could be me some days. But I figured out long ago that the world isn’t going to get better with more thugs. Oh, they’ll make their impact, they’ll bleed and die and set precedent for the law to build on. But this war will end in a courthouse, among civilized men and women, as these wars always do.”

“So you’re saying everything I’ve done is pointless?” Miller says. He looks away, biting his tongue to keep from saying more, from screaming in this woman’s face all the disappointments his life has been.

She moves a step closer, and he doesn’t resist as she takes his hands and he feels the calluses on her palms as they close around his long Belter fingers.

“I’m saying it doesn’t have to be,” Julie Mao said. Miller looked up at her face, the angel that had rescued him from gravity’s torture. Julie Mao looks him straight in the eye as she says in a low, fierce whisper, “Come _fight_ with us.”

And damn him, if he wasn’t in love before, he’s long, long gone now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd dearly love to hear from you, and/or you can share the fic from its original post on my blog [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/157748602130/world-enough-and-time-9940-words-by-avelera)!


	4. winged victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we make a home.

**Mars**

They put Niké to bed then returned to the sitting room where Chrisjen and Arjun waited with the rest of the bottle of wine. Miller drapes his arm over Julie’s shoulders as they sit back down across from their guests, and she leans into the familiar crook of his arm.

It had been a good night, as the half finished bottle of red could attest. It was the real stuff too, none of this synth beer or mushroom-based turpentine he’d grown up with on Ceres. One of the perks of the job, since Chrisjen Avasarala brought a case for them whenever she and Julie met on diplomatic missions. But this was the first time the two families had been able to really kick back together in a casual setting, now with the treaty signed and peace looming.

Miller liked Chrisjen well enough, even if she scared the shit out of him. The woman had blood on her hands that thugs on Ceres could only imagine, and he should probably hate her for some of it, but her style of cracking heads to get that treaty signed had helped save thousands, if not millions of lives. He’s curious to get to know her better outside of the suit and tie events held by the UN or Mars government, all those politicians circling each other like wary cats.

Arjun was his real brother-in-arms. For all that the professor and the ex-cop had wildly different lives, they shared the camaraderie that comes from being the proverbial arm candy of a powerful woman. Julie representing Fred Johnson and the OPA, and Chrisjen representing Earth in the diplomatic arena often meant walking the tightrope of appearing outwardly hostile or friendly to one another depending on where the wind was blowing, while still being able to hammer out deals behind closed doors. The husbands were less constrained, and usually ended the night sharing a beer in the lobby bar while their wives worked late.

“She is a good girl, your daughter,” Chrisjen observes, nodding down the hall to Niké’s room. “You must be very proud.”

“Yeah, but six is a bit young to be staying up all night with the big kids,” Miller says, and reaches forward to pour a fresh glass for Julie and then himself.

“She’s been a trooper, as they like to say here,” Julie says. She accepts the glass from Miller’s hand and leans back against him. Chrisjen and Arjun share the opposite couch and for the first time in ages, Miller allows himself to relax instead of watching doors or keeping an ear perked for explosives. The days before the treaty had not exactly been easy on his nerves.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had one so young around the house,” Chrisjen muses. “It must not have been easy for her, with her mother’s work, and you two moving around so much.”

“We did worry about having her, it was so unexpected,” Julie says. “But I have no regrets, and at least the world is safer before she understood how dangerous it could be.”

Miller grimaces at the memory of Julie’s pregnancy. Both of them wanted the kid, desperately, but Miller had pointed out that it was ultimately Julie’s call since she was the one racing around the Belt on Fred Johnson’s business. A pregnancy meant opening herself to all sorts of complications from low gravity, dangerous during the best of times, much less when dodging assassination attempts. They had spent as much time on high-gravity stations like Ganymede as possible, but it was on Pallas where Niké was finally born. It had meant dangerously low gravity, less than ideal medical facilities, and the most stressful twenty-four hours of Miller’s life, but at least it helped them think of a name.

“I understand,” Chrisjen said with a sad smile, and looks down at her hands.“It is odd, this quiet. I half expect any moment to be called for another emergency session. I am not quite sure what to do with myself.”

“Well, I have no problem with this change of pace,” Arjun says. “It has been wonderful to see so much of you for once.”

“Give it time, you may grow sick of me,” Chrisjen laughs.

* * *

The four of them talk long into the night, killing the second bottle and given that diplomats were a hard-drinking bunch, and as an ex-cops he could keep up with the best of them, Miller went to the kitchen for a third. Which of course means they're talking about him when he gets back.

“Jules-Pierre was _furious,_ ” Chrisjen’s husky voice is laden with amusement. “The man he had sent to kidnap his daughter, this ‘low-life Belter thug’, was now his son-in-law?”

It might have stung, if not for Julie’s delighted laugh. Miller clears his throat as he reenters the room, “Well I can say the thrill was mutual. Pops didn’t exactly make a good first impression with that kidnapping order.”

“So, no love lost?” Chrisjen says, looking at him over her shoulder. “No attempts to reconcile, even after your daughter was born?”

“Hey, that's all up to Julie, but she's the damn diplomat and even she can’t stand him,” Miller says and reclaims his seat beside Julie, placing the bottle on the glass table. “I just go where she goes, for as long as she feels like keeping me around… Hey Jules, that’s a good question, why _do_ you keep me around?”

“Hmm… nice ass, _que no_?” Julie says, giving a shrug with her free hand and a grin. But the smile flickers and she looks down into her glass, at her own reflection painted red. “But seriously, Joe saved me back then. Before him I was a rebel, but I didn't always understand the cause. I wanted to help Belters, but Joe was born one, he helped me learn how to tell the bullshit and propaganda from the real suffering. He knew when a risk was suicidal, when to pull up stakes and run, how to pick the right fight. Even if sometimes I had to give him a shove.”

“She gives me too much credit,” Miller says, fighting the urge to hide his face with the hat he no longer wears at the unexpected praise. “I’d still be a beat cop back on Ceres without Julie. She inspires people. She inspired me.”

“If we’d never met, I’d be dead,” Julie says. Miller snorts in disbelief. Not Julie Mao, a woman with that much life was impossible to kill. He glances over to tell her so, and the words freeze on his tongue.

Black pustules cover Julie’s body, flickering a ghostly, poisonous blue. Crystals crawl up the track of her veins, up her naked body, covered in sweat and offal. She looks impossibly ten years younger, black hair loose and sticking to her skin like seaweed. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as the crystals sprouted from her throat, and he stares into her dark eyes gone blank and lifeless and dead dead dead…

Miller recoils, seizing away from the horror in front of him. Except, Jesus, it’s _Julie_ and suddenly he’s moving forward, hands hesitating inches from her broken body. He has to do something, even if, _God_ , even if she’s dead. Please don’t let her be dead, he didn’t know he’d do if… who he even _was_ without her. But the disease looked contagious, and there was Niké to think of. How was he going to tell Niké? How was he going to save Julie? Jesus, how—

Miller realizes he’s shaking, as hard as he had a lifetime ago when he was shot on Ceres. Shaking as if he’s going to fall apart, except it’s not all in his head, someone is shaking _him_ , and Miller's eyes open.

Julie’s hand is cool on his forehead, her expression frantic as she looks down at him. But she’s ok, Jesus she’s ok, no pustules, no sparking blue crystals burning her from the inside out.

“My God, Miller are you alright?” Arjun exclaims. Julie’s hand moves to his cheek, and he presses his face against her hand, murmuring a wordless reassurance.

“It’s the gravity, it has to be,” Julie says. Her voice trembles. “Joe, honey, talk to me.”

“Fine, ‘m fine,’” Miller mumbles, struggling upright. His heart is thundering in his ears, the shock of adrenaline from seeing Julie in that vision, so utterly consumed by that _plague_... even the memory is like a bolt of electricity to the heart. He wonders if that’s what just happened to him, some kind of stroke, an aneurysm from being so long on Mars’s relatively high gravity. Miller groans as he sits up. He was lying on the floor, he must have fallen off the couch and hit his head on the way down. “Julie’s right, it must have been the gravity,” he mutters. His tongue feels thick in his mouth.

“I should say so, you went white as a sheet and passed out!” Arjun says.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine, just a bit lightheaded. Sorry to disturb you all,” Miller says, waving vaguely at their guests.

“Even so, perhaps it is indeed time for us to adjourn…” Chrisjen says, eying the two of them. “My dear, are you certain we cannot be of some assistance?”

Julie looks at him and Miller gives the Belter _all clear_ sign with a shaking hand. Julie nods in return and looks over her shoulder, “Thank you, but we’ll be fine.”

* * *

It takes Miller hours to shake it off: that vision of Julie dead, covered in ichor and her own fluids. Unable to sleep, he wanders there little apartment on Mars, the one they'd rented for the negotiations, while Julie hovers. It's unusual for her, which means he must have scared her more than she lets on, but she says nothing. They had both seen too much during the last ten years, they both knew what it looked like in the other when the horrors came back.

Except this vision was different. In all his years, Miller had never thought of Julie dying. Not because it was impossible. It was all _too_ possible, from the days when she was running courier for the OPA, to when her promotion to Fred Johnson’s chief diplomat painted an even bigger target on her back. Miller had convinced himself she was immortal because it was that or break. He forced himself to never think about what would happen if Julie died, because he knew he wouldn’t survive it.

It’s the realization that eventually brings Miller to Niké’s room. He needs to see his daughter, he needs the reminder of why he couldn’t just end it all if the very possible ever happened, if her mother was gone. He would be there for Niké, hollow and half-dead, body held together by vague thoughts of vengeance and responsibility, but he would be there.

Niké’s lies sleeping in her bed and Miller sits beside her, careful not to jostle her awake. Her skin is still baby-soft as he strokes long fingers over her cheek, up to the delicate shell of her ear. She is her mother’s child, could be her mother’s twin except for a little around the eyes and the shape of her nose. It’s a good thing, no girl should have to look like him.

Something painful clenches within Miller’s chest at the sight of her, what he would do for her, for this little family they’d cobbled together against all odds. Niké stirs, but doesn’t wake, her breathing deep and even, tiny hands curled under her head.

He can’t leave her, no matter what happens. There are two women in his life now, he has to remember that. Why is he even thinking like this? It’s alright, the treaty is signed, old enemies are now friends. The cop senses which had kept them alive during those troubled times were out of place now. So why couldn’t he…?

“Joe, can you come here?” Julie’s voice is soft from the doorway. Miller nods and rises, padding silently to her side and shutting the door to Niké’s room behind him.

“I just got a call from Fred,” Julie says. Her face is pale, but it may just be the artificial lamplight from the window, the shadows of night. He tries to still his heart from the sudden surge of fear, the sense of the other shoe about to drop. “They found something.”

He doesn’t want to hear it. He wants them to go to bed so he can press his face to Julie’s hair and inhale the scent of her, to feel her warm and solid and _there_ in his arms. To wake up in the morning and know they had beaten the odds, they had somehow come out of all of this alive. But now he’s frozen, waiting for whatever comes.

“Do you remember ten years ago, when Eros went dark?” Julie says. “That plague, when they shut down the station and put it under quarantine?”

“All souls lost,” Miller echoes, remembering the headlines, the panic forgotten by everyone except Belters while the human race approached the brink of war. The stampedes on Ceres, the terror, every little bubble of air and water in the Belt wondering if they would be next.

“They—they think it has something to do with my father. Mao-Kwikowski Mercantile and the UN are about to make a joint announcement. They say it will change humanity as we know it,” Julie says. “I’m afraid. Something feels wrong.”

“It’s your dad, of course something is wrong,” Joe says without really thinking.

Her lip quirks, but Julie presses on, “They want me on Earth immediately. You and Niké should stay here. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“We’re coming,” Miller says before he can stop himself. His mind is whirling now, grasping for something that feels just out of reach, like he’s heard this all before. Panic threatens to build inside him, that nameless sense of doom if he lets her out of his sight.

“The gravity…” she says, dark eyes flickering up to his face. Mars was only a third Earth’s gravity and it still feels like there’s a stone pressing down on his chest. He has never traveled to Earth, never really wanted to, and that had suited Julie just fine. All that was about to change.

Miller takes her hand, and reflexively kisses the back of it. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We're gonna be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd dearly love to hear from you, and/or you can share the fic from its original post on my blog [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/157748602130/world-enough-and-time-9940-words-by-avelera)!


	5. world enough and time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One life of Julie Mao.

**Eros**

She lies broken in the dark, and when the door opens the light sears her skin. He’s alone and his breath is a drum beat that intensifies with a sudden exhalation at the sight of her. Her head is pounding and parched lips can hardly form a plea when she sees him. She can feel the putrescence climbing around inside her like scrabbling claws, turning her skin into a bonfire.

“Julie, Julie Mao?” he says as he crouches beside her. The bird flutters around him, its wings beating like a heartbeat. He doesn’t notice. His hands reach for her and she tries to bat him away.

 _Don’t_ , she whispers through cracked lips, _you’ll catch it_. But he ignores her, or doesn’t hear her and she is rising, she is in his arm. He holds her as if she weighs nothing, uncaring of the mess of her body, bathed in sweat and filth, against his coat.

“We gotta get you to a doctor,” he says, half to himself. He is hazy in her vision, face wavering in and out. The bird fades in and out.

 _Are you really here?_ Julie Mao says, and she’s not sure if her lips are moving. Can’t he see the black spores crawling up her body? If they step into the light it will be over and he will go with her and the disease will spread and spread and spread…

“Spores?” he stops and looks down at her. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

She blinks, consciousness a hazy unreality, figures dancing in her vision as it speckles like the marks on her skin, like the marks…

Julie looks down her naked body and squints against the pain of the light, the pounding in her head and the ache in her limbs. The pale expanse of flesh, her ribs visible through skin that hangs from her frame from starvation and thirst.

But no marks.

Julie shakes her head, frowning down at her chest mottled by bruises and sick but no growth, no spores. The rest is a blur, the startled looks at a man carrying a naked woman through the halls, her vision wavering in and out until she’s set down in a bed, head lolling.

“Dehydration, hallucinations, some kind of fever. She’s been alone in there for, I don’t know, weeks, doc you gotta…”

Julie’s eyes roll back, voices cutting off as the lights go out.

* * *

Julie wakes surrounded by white. Stark hospital curtains, sterilized sheets, the beep and whirr of medical machinery. She feels the tug of a catheter in her right hand, every inch of her body pounding with the dull ache of dehydration. Her lips are cracked and she feels like one gigantic bruise, but she’s alive. How?

Julie turns her head, and sees him. His hat is pulled down over his eyes and he’s hunched over in his chair, dozing. It gives her a minute to study him, the few days of stubble on his cheeks, the long Belter fingers curled in his lap. He’s wearing a gray suit jacket,  blue shirt, black slacks. There’s an empty holster at his hip. He looks familiar, someone from Ceres?

_A shadow stepping in from the doorway, the necklace trailing from his fingertips and a bird beats its wings…_

He shifts, a sliver shining as he cracks opens one eye.

“Who are you?” Julie croaks.

He smiles wryly to himself and sits up, spine popping as he straightens. “Right, of course, how the hell would you know me?”

“No, I know you,” she whispers. “I saw you in my dreams. You were looking for me,” she pauses in confusion. “I _know_ you. But who are you?”

Whatever wry humor that had lingered in the twist of his lips falls away, the expression that replaces it is haunted. “Miller. I was a detective on Ceres, your father… Well, it doesn’t matter what he wanted. I’m off that assignment now, and that job.”

Julie frowns, and even that motion aches. “Then why are you here?”

“You know, I ask myself that every day,” Miller says, and looks away. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“You saved my life...” she says, not sure if it’s a statement or a question. Miller laughs under his breath.

“Almost didn’t. Doctor said you were in pretty rough shape: dehydration, malnutrition. You were hallucinating when I found you. You were almost…” he pauses, swallows. “Yeah, you were in a bad way.”

Julie absorbs this, going quiet. The fog is clearing from her head, what she can only assume is some kind of pain medication, because the headache that’s taking its place isn’t much better. She remembers a little, the days she spent locked up on the _Anubis_ , her crew. She remembers arriving on Eros, sick and certain someone was chasing her, certain she had to hide. Now that the haze is clearing she can see just how ill she must have been to reach that level of paranoia. Even the memory of the hallucination, those black spots crawling up her skin, is enough to make her shudder.

And this man, this Detective Miller, if not for him she would have died in a puddle of her own sweat and sick, too far gone to even call for the help that was right outside her door. On the one hand, her father had sent him to kidnap her, her family no longer even pretending to value her choices or autonomy. Most people would have left it there, but Miller had stuck with it, had tracked her down to Eros probably within hours of her death. And she had _seen_ him, seen him in the doors and corners, in the shadows out of the corner of her eye, talking to her. Telling her it was going to be alright, that he was coming to help her.

Jesus, she had been more sick than she realized.

“Where will you go now?” Julie says.

“Oh.” Miller looks taken aback by the question. “I don’t know. Back to Ceres maybe? Find a new job, get my life together.” His long Belter fingers fidget, as if suddenly self-conscious. He stands and tips his hat to her. “But I’ve already taken enough of your time. I just wanted to make sure you woke up before I took off. I won’t bother you further.” He turns to go.

It’s agony to move, and the catheter in her hand pinches as she reaches out, grabbing Miller by the wrist before he’s out of range. Everything hurts, but she can’t let go. She thinks she’ll go crazy if she lets him out of her sight.

“Stay, please,” she pleads. “At least until I’m— I need to go to Ceres too. You could come with me.”

She needs to know: how does she already recognize him? Where has she seen him? She can she feel her own death pressing down around her, so close it feels more like a memory than a nightmare. Like the walls of reality are so thin she can see where her body lies, and Miller standing above it, his expression horribly blank. She knows it’s crazy, and for now she can only blame it on the painkillers in her system, the smell of death covered in sterilizers that pervades the hospital, the fact he’s the only living thing she can see.

If this was just a job, he’ll pull away now, maybe give her a stiff smile before declining. He’ll vanish back into the Belt, and it will be the last she sees of him and she’ll never get to ask… why, and how, and stay. She won’t get to learn how she knows him, how well she could know him.

But he stops. He takes off his hat and holds it in hand like a supplicant, a tic from another time.  “Alright, Julie,” he says softly, and there’s something in his expression so subtle and transforming he looks like a different person. A spark of life. “Alright, I’ll stay.”

 _You belong with me,_ she wants to say. But they just met, and he doesn’t owe her anything. He’s already given too much. But she thinks she sees as much relief in his eyes as she feels. Relief and recognition. _O_ _h, there you are, finally._ It’s crazy. She won’t say it now, but maybe later, when they figure out where to go from here. Later.

They have time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is a bit of a small fandom and ship, so really any thoughts and comments would be a joy. 
> 
> If you would like an alert for when I publish original novels and short stories, you can sign up [here](http://eepurl.com/dnzuV1).
> 
> You can also share and spread the word about this fic from the original post on my Tumblr [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/157748602130/world-enough-and-time-9940-words-by-avelera/)! There's also a playlist of the songs I listened to while writing, which you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/athena799/playlist/38fntQOmasso6lgyN9yt1i).


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